Hero
by aterriblebeautyisborn
Summary: He wanted to be brave like his father. He was until the very end. From toerag to hero... The transformation of James Potter.
1. Chapter 1 Mad Mothers and Fathers

**I know I said I would update_ Abomination_ first, but chapter 67 of _Always_ is turning out to be longer than I anticipated, and I really wanted to post this first chapter.**

**This is the third story in my Marauders era series. It will have scenes from _Always_ and _Abomination_, but from James's perspective. It will start from age nine and end at his death. I'm not quite sure how long it will be, most likely around 25 chapters, but knowing me, it will end up longer. The Marauders and Lily will be featured frequently. Severus will also make quite a few appearances. I'm a bit nervous about this fanfic because it's going to be considerably lighter than the others, even though it will have its share of darker and tragic moments. Also, the title is _Hero_ because James will aspire to be one, play the role of one (as Severus so often says in _Always_), and eventually will become one. So no, this won't be chapter after chapter of James Potter's heroic deeds.**

**Please let me know what you think of my version of James. He is most likely the most difficult character I've written so far, and I'm not sure if I captured him well enough. For some reason, I find the more distant characters easier to write about, especially the older ones. James was especially a challenge because **

**1. He's not only a nine-year-old boy, but he's a happy nine-year-old boy with no major childhood issues, so I can't really make him act older than he is, like Sirius and Severus. I was never a nine-year-old boy and the last time I was around one was when I was nine or so, so yeah, I'm not completely sure if I portrayed one realistically enough. **  
><strong>2. He's not only a happy nine-year-old boy, but he's James Potter. Most people either love or hate James. I want this to be as realistic as possible, well, as realistic as possible with a K+ rating. James won't be a perfect hero who does harmless little pranks until he saves Lily from the evil Snivellus. He also won't be a bullying mastermind who spends every day plotting how to separate Lily and Severus while he tortures Hufflepuffs for the hell of it. Since he's going to grow up with two doting parents, he's going to be spoiled and conceited at times, and yes, the occasional bully, but he'll also have his good moments too. My goal, at least in the end, is to make James semi relatable. You will hate him at times, but I hope you'll at least understand why, and grow to love him at other times. I know some of my reviewers really, really dislike James, and I can understand why, but I hope you read this anyway, if not just to mock James or watch for the other Marauders, Severus, and Lily. Who knows, you might even be sad when I kill him off in the end.<strong>

**Chapter One- Mad Mothers and Fearless Fathers**  
><strong>1969<strong>

There was a flash of emerald and a swirl of cerulean, blending together in perfect harmony. The light afternoon breeze was no longer gentle. It whipped his hair and tore at his clothes and hissed in his ears, all while the hot rays of the summer sun beat down on his back relentlessly. It was electrifying, and perhaps just a bit dangerous, but brilliant all the same.

It was flying, and nine-year-old James Potter loved it.

If he flew fast enough, James could almost hear the thunder of wild cheers, the roar of the crowd as they shouted his name with glee. Inspired by his imaginary audience, he embellished a fresh set of twists and turns, adrenaline soaring through his veins. In the midst of a particularly complicated spiral, James's dreamy haze shattered when he became aware that someone really was shouting his name.

"JAMES POTTER, YOU COME DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT."

James winced, wondering if he could feign deafness, at least for another few minutes. But even a hundred or so feet in the air, he recognized the alarming shade of red that Dorea Potter was undoubtedly approaching. From years of experience, he knew perfectly well that was a danger sign. Reluctantly, James began his descent.

Dorea Potter wasn't the sort of mother who was easily angered. There were times when she would sigh, a rather exasperated sigh, complete with an expression that could only be described as _oh, James_. She almost always used that particular expression whenever she discovered whatever mischief he had landed himself in, whether it was sneaking garden gnomes into the house to "see what would happen" or attempting to convince Biddle the house-elf to kidnap a renowned Quidditch player or two, "just to throw the Quaffle around for a bit". Other times, in arguably more extreme matters, Dorea's mouth would tightly clamp shut in what was meant to appear as a stern look, but would soon start twitching until the smile fighting its way to her lips finally broke out, usually in the middle of her son's explanation, but occasionally after.

And then there were times, as rare as they were, when Dorea was genuinely upset. James suspected that this was one of those times.

On ground level, Dorea looked far from the doting mother she was as she loomed high above him, her hands planted firmly on her hips, billowy robes swirling around her. Her streaking dark hair blew wildly with every gust of wind, giving her all the more terrifying appearance, an appearance that had even James ruffling his hair with a rare nervousness. Any second, he half-expected her to breathe fire, and wouldn't have been startled to see puffs of smoke escape her nostrils. But even smoke and flames wouldn't have been able disguise the concern in her usually merry blue-gray eyes, the only thing that could cause the normally mild Dorea to appear in such a way.

"Hi, Mum," James said a touch too brightly, knowing fully well that a charming smile was in order. That and feigned innocence. "Was I flying too high again?"

At his cheeriness and wind-flushed cheeks, and most likely the realization that he was on the grass, safe and sound, Dorea's face slowly returned to its normal color, and she no longer seemed quite so fierce. But from the way her hands remained fastened to her hips, James knew he wasn't in the clear- yet. "I think you know perfectly well how high you were flying, James. What's the rule again?"

"Only fly as high as the roof when you or Dad aren't outside," James said automatically, ducking his head down so that Dorea wouldn't be able to see his eyes, still bright from what he considered to be a rather spectacular flight, cross and unappreciative Dorea or not. "Sorry, Mum."

He was sorry, sort of. He hadn't meant to worry her, but how was he supposed to be a famous dark wizard-catching Quidditch player if he couldn't even fly above the _roof_? Mums, James decided, worried far too much.

"James, how many times have we had this discussion?" Dorea was beginning to sound more weary than formidable.

James fidgeted at the uncomfortable question, debating whether or not it was best to continue with the innocent route. He preferred that one much to the truthful path, which tended to be awfully thorny, but he had a feeling that outright denial would make Dorea turn red again. He settled on the safe medium of vagueness. "Not that often."

"You don't call twice a week often?"

"There are five other days in the week," James pointed out earnestly.

When Dorea said nothing, James finally dared to sneak a peek, and was bewildered by what he saw. Her forehead was resting against her hand, her face wavering between the frustrated desire to laugh and cry, and once again, James was baffled by adults and their confusing ways. Surely no one could want to laugh and cry at the same time, especially at such a simple fact. He was being honest. There _were_ five other days in the week.

For a second, James was struck by the sudden alarm that his mother was secretly mad. It didn't matter, he decided bravely, a moment later. He would love her anyway.

"I love you, Mum," James said aloud, feeling that those three words couldn't hurt. Maybe they would even make her less mad.

To his horror, he was almost sure he could see her eyes glisten. He hadn't mean to make her _cry_. Mums were supposed to be _happy_ when they heard they were loved. Everyone knew that. Before James could say so, he realized that Dorea's face was beginning to soften, with only a few worry lines remaining, worry lines that had been there for as long as he could remember. When she spoke, her voice had grown a great deal softer. "Your father and I only made these rules because we care about you, James. You don't want another broken leg, do you?"

"That was one time!" James said defensively, looking up to meet her eyes the second his flying skills were in question. "I'm a much better flier now. Did you see that Wronski Feint I just did? Even Hamish MacFarlan would've fallen for it!"

"Which one is the Wronkski Feint again?"

"Mum!" James was horrified that anyone, especially his own mother, did not know what a Wronski Feint was. Before he could launch into a detailed explanation, a new thought crossed his mind, one even more important than Wronksi Feints. "When is Dad coming home? I want to show him this new move I made up."

A sudden shadow crossed over Dorea's face, so fleeting that James was unable to catch sight of it. If he had, it would have troubled him far more than her possible madness. "Late."

"Again?" James's face fell, his chin drooping in disappointment. Normally, he relished the fact that Charlus Potter was an Auror, one of the most highly respected in the Ministry of Magic. While other fathers pored over tea-stained paperwork, _his_ fought dark wizards. While other fathers simply worked to provide for their families, _his_ saved the world. To James, Charlus wasn't just an ordinary father.

He was a hero.

But even so, James couldn't help but wish that heroes had more time off. Lately, Charlus had been working exceedingly long hours, and when he did finally come home, he wasn't the same energetic father who was more than delighted to fling a Quaffle back and forth for a few hours. He was tired, with dark circles haunting his hazel eyes, as if he hadn't slept in ages.

"Again," Dorea confirmed. "Why don't you clean your room in the meantime?"

James made a face, temporarily forgetting all about Charlus. "Why can't Biddle do it?"

"Because it's your room and not Biddle's. And Biddle wasn't the one flying above the roof," Dorea's blue-gray eyes still glinted, revealing that the flying incident was far from forgotten, much to James's disappointment. She reached over to smooth her son's hair, the motion affectionate and decidedly more forceful when it became clear that the determined black strands would not stay flat. "Honestly, sometimes I think not all the magic in the world could keep your hair down."

James gave a slight yelp and protectively cupped his hands over his head, his precious broomstick falling under his arm. "You're ruining it, Mum. It's supposed to look this way."

"Like you were caught in a tornado?"

"Like Hamish's, after he's won a match!"

"Can't you push it back a little?" Dorea said desperately, even though they had the same conversation many times before. "I have a nice potion that does wonders-"

"No!" James refused to hear another word and quickly backed away, hoisting his broomstick off the ground with one hand, still covering his head with the other. "I'm going! I'll clean my room! Just don't mess it up again, okay, Mum?"

"Okay," Dorea agreed with a helpless little sigh that he knew well by now. He didn't have to turn around to see the slight smile coloring her lips.

It didn't take long for James to clean his room, or at least kick whatever he could under the bed. He didn't understand why he had to clean his room when there was a house-elf that_ wanted_ to clean right there. It was rather insulting, really. If Dorea poked her head in and asked why there were still dirty socks piled up in the corner, James would inform her that he was only thinking of poor Biddle's feelings. Dorea would have to admire her son's thoughtfulness. Who wouldn't?

Instead of stacking up the comic books strewn across the floor or tucking away the rather indignant chessboard pieces that had been forgotten in the midst of game, James settled back on his bed with a small stack of unopened Chocolate Frogs, a private victory celebration in honor of a brilliant flight. Once he sorted out his new cards, nearly all of them doubles, much to his disappointment, he laid back once more, and lazily tossed a Remembrall back and forth, absentmindedly pretending that it was a Snitch.

He wished his father would come home.

But Charlus didn't come. Not even when the sun had finally sunk and the crescent-shaped moon had risen high above. Even after Dorea had come in to gaze around the room with an unsurprised shake of her head, and later, to bid him goodnight, Charlus still hadn't arrived. James may have been tucked under the covers, but his eyes were wide open. He had absolutely no intention of sleeping. At least not until his father arrived to say goodnight. He always said goodnight, no matter how late it was.

As minutes transformed into hours, James's eyelids grew heavier and heavier. One second, he was ordering himself not to fall asleep, the next, he was dueling twelve wizards at once, the very same duel he had so often imagined his father doing. Just as he was regaining the upper hand, James found himself suddenly wide awake in bed, quite sorry to have discovered that it was just a dream after all. His initial disappointment quickly vanished when he realized what, rather who, had awoken him.

"Dad!"

"I didn't mean to wake you," Charlus creaked the door open another inch. "I just wanted to say goodnight."

"Oh. I wasn't sleeping," James said quickly, abruptly dropping his hands to keep from rubbing his sleepy eyes. Aurors didn't sleep, at least not regular hours, especially when they hadn't planned on it.

"Is that so?" Even with only the faint light of the moon to brighten the room, the amusement in Charlus's tired eyes was evident, and James found himself wondering if that would be him in forty or so years. Even in the poor lighting, the resemblance between father and son was undeniable, from their thick hair, even if one was a bit gray, and virtually identical hazel eyes. Thinking back to his father's many tales of dark wizard captures, James hoped so.

"Really," James said, nodding for emphasis. "Just relaxing. You should've come home sooner. You missed my Wronski Feint!"

"So I heard." Charlus slipped inside the room when it became clear that James was no longer about to drift back to sleep, and whisked a chair from the nearby desk, making himself comfortable in it before he spoke again. "I also heard you nearly gave your mother a heart attack, a hundred feet in the air."

James's eyes widened in excitement, eager to make the number even more impressive. "A hundred! It had to be two hundred, at least!" At his father's grin, he caught himself and sighed, regretful about letting the words spill more than anything. Aurors didn't make mistakes. "Am I in trouble?"

"I'll tell you what." In spite of Charlus's stern expression, his eyes were gleaming as he leaned forward. "If you promise not to frighten your poor mum again, we'll fly tomorrow. Maybe even three hundred feet."

James didn't have to consider the offer long before beaming. "Deal. Did you find any dark wizards tonight?"

Even in the shadows, Charlus's face seemed to darken, the light in his hazel eyes suddenly dimming. For a moment, James almost thought that he looked worried, but then he remembered that Charlus never worried. His father wasn't afraid of anything at all, not even of basilisks and dragons. James decided he must have imagined it. "No, James. You should get some rest."

"Wait," James said suddenly as Charlus began to rise from the chair. Time with his father was becoming increasingly rare, and after waiting hours for him to return, James found that he didn't want him to leave so soon. "Can you tell me a story? The Godric one?"

"Again?" Charlus raised an eyebrow, looking surprised but pleased all the same. "Didn't you say you were too old for stories?"

James shook his head firmly. "Not tonight."

And so Charlus sank into his seat once more and began to tell the tale of Godric Gryffindor, from his rise to glory to his final moments. James listened, drinking in the words as if it were his first time hearing them. Charlus told the best stories, describing each part in such vivid detail that James almost believed that he had been at Godric's side the entire time. James could practically see Godric slicing his sword into the air, rubies gleaming in the late afternoon sun, far redder than the blood that spilled from the dying dragon. He was invincible.

"Did he really save Salazar's life?" James asked, with the same frown he wore whenever he heard that particular part. It had never made sense to him.

"Oh yes," Charlus said wisely. "Even though certain other wizards would claim otherwise."

"I don't understand why," James said slowly, his forehead creasing in contemplation. "I know they were friends, but that was before Salazar went bad, wasn't it?"

"Salazar had made his mistakes by then," Charlus acknowledged. "But not the worst of them. Even if they had had their differences, Godric was able to rise above them. I suppose he thought there was another chance for Salazar to change."

"But there wasn't," James said, more than a little dismayed that one of his idols could have made such a grave error. "Salazar still wanted to keep Muggle-borns out. _He left a monster in the school_."

"That is just a legend, one I probably shouldn't have told you," Charlus ran a few fingers through his hair, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. "Godric was a hero. A true hero doesn't decide whether a life is worth saving or not, James. He saves lives because he's better than that. Would you look up to Godric as much if he left Salazar to die?"

James mulled it over. Godric and Salazar had had their share of disagreements, with Salazar clearly heading down a dark path. It was easier, _safer_ for Godric to step out of the way, to save his own life rather than his enemy's. But that was what Salazar would have done, and Godric was no Salazar. "Not really."

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Charlus's lips at his son's reply. James yawned, finding himself suddenly exhausted.

"Godric was the best wizard in his time, right, Dad?" James asked sleepily, even though he had asked the same question many times before.

"I believe so," Charlus agreed as if he hadn't answered it just as many times.

"I'll be a Gryffindor at Hogwarts, right?"

"I would be very surprised if you're not. But even if you're not, it won't be the end of the world."

"No, I have to be a Gryffindor," James insisted. "I want to be a hero. Like you and Godric."

If James had been a bit more awake, then perhaps he would have noticed that his father was choosing his words carefully. "It's the wizard, James, not the House. Not all Gryffindors are heroes. There are some Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and even Slytherins who might surprise you."

But James was shaking his head, his words slurring together. "No, I'll be a Gryffindor. I know I will."

He was too tired to hear his father's reply. As darkness washed over him in a peaceful sleep, the thought stayed with him. Godric was a true hero. Just like his father.

Just like he would be someday.


	2. Chapter 2 Ingenious

**Thank you for the reviews! I'm so glad that so many of you approve of my James, because like I said, I was worried about him. A few of you mentioned that you previously disliked him and this is making you like him more, and that makes me so happy, so thank you! I know this update is overdue, but I hope you enjoy it, and I'm sorry it took so long.**

**MoonHead- Thanks for the review! The names come from the family tree that JKR drew. We don't know if they were James's parents or not, but I decided to use them rather than inventing my own names. The descriptions I made up myself.**

**almanera- Thanks for the review! I agree, Dorea shouldn't be too much like Mrs. Weasley, so I'm trying to draw a line between her and a doting mother. I think I showed some of her Black side in this chapter. I wanted to show that she is still a Black, though a very mild Black, and I wanted her channel any Black temper into event planning (as you said, she was raised as a Black so it seems natural that she would care about important events, though not as much as Walburga) and into worrying about James, shown in the last chapter when she's upset about his flying. I also wanted James to be a mix of two parents, so when I began deciding his parents' characteristics, I looked at James and his own characteristics. I felt that forming connections with the right people (his instant dislike of Slytherins and general behavior to those who aren't Marauders) and desire to be a hero/to be great were more Dorea/Black, and his nonchalance, humor, lightness were Charlus/Potter.**

**Roonil wazlib- Thanks for the review! No one will make fun of James for having old parents just because they're old, but a certain few Slytherins may rudely remind James of their health status in a few years just because they know it's a sensitive subject.**

**Roonil- Thanks for the review! They are on the older side for parents, but that doesn't automatically equal retirement age. Going by the Black family tree, Dorea would have been in her 40s at James's birth. Charlus's birthdate isn't stated, but I'm guessing he would be around the same age. That makes him around fifty now, so I would say he still has time.**

**Teresa- Thanks for the review! Gryffindor saving Slytherin's life is my own invention, and yes, mainly to mirror the James saving Snape scene.**

**Fan- Thanks for the review! To be honest, I'm not sure how long it will be. I'm aiming for 25 chapters because I only want to do two or three scenes each year, but knowing me, it will end up longer. I can say it definitely won't be 200!**

**A few notes about this chapter:**

**1. I know Voldemort isn't a well known threat in the wizarding world until the end of second year in Always, but since this chapter includes Ministry officials, I felt that they would be more aware/suspicious than the gossiping Hogwarts students.**

**2. I know James may seem childish in this chapter, especially compared to Severus and Sirius, but that's partially why I wanted to write this. I wanted to show that he's especially young because he has been so sheltered by parents who love him. Sirius and Severus seem older because they worry about their families and their issues. James doesn't really have any issues. He doesn't spend his time worrying, and because of that, he's allowed to be a kid and have an overactive imagination.**

**3. In a few ways, this chapter mirrors parts of Abomination because I put James and Sirius in similar situations. I wanted to show how different their lifestyles are even though they are both wealthy pure bloods.**

**Chapter Two- Ingenious**

**1970**

It was terrible, unnatural, and taunting all at once.

Worst of all, it was _flat_.

James was positive that Hamish MacFarlan would have never accepted this harrowing defeat.

"James, would you please stop fussing with your hair?"

Immediately, James's hands fell to his sides at the sound of Dorea's stern voice, a voice that clearly revealed just how many times she had repeated those words in the last hour. There were occasions when he could make her soften with the right words and a charming smile, but when she was playing the role of hostess, she was a force to be reckoned with, and rather terrifyingly so. He grinned brightly at her, not wanting to be chased down with yet another hair potion. "I was just looking to see how...nice it is!"

Dorea gave him a look that told him she was far from convinced, but a sudden number of clangs and clashes from the kitchen where Biddle was sent her scurrying. The second she had disappeared around the corner, James returned to studying his reflection in the corridor mirror, his frown resurfacing. He wondered if Hamish had a mum who made him dress up for dinner parties too. Gingerly, he touched his hair and winced. It didn't even_ feel_ like his hair. It was stiff and hard and sort of sticky. Feeling a little bit braver, he prodded it more forcefully. Not a hair budged.

James blinked, wide-eyed.

It wasn't an ordinary hair potion. It was a _curse_.

As he continued to stare at his reflection in horror, a new figure came into view behind him. It was a strange figure, but there was something vaguely familiar about the way he held himself. Another step closer and James realized that it was not a stranger at all.

"Dad, she did it to you too!"

Charlus chuckled weakly. "I suppose you could say she was rather insistent on it."

He didn't look anything like the father who played Quidditch with him in the rain and enjoyed lounging about in a well loved and well worn out sweater that his wife threatened to throw out whenever she saw it. His hair was plastered down similarly to James', appearing to be just as rigid. Instead of his usual deceivingly simple but well-tailored robes, he was clad in a rather elegant ensemble that was straight from Twilfit and Tattings, topped with all the additional touches such as solid gold fastenings that gleamed even indoors. James had seen him dressed up before, of course, but never quite so shiny, and certainly not with flattened hair.

"But you're an Auror," James folded his arms across his chest, his forehead puckering. "Can't you at least fix the hair?"

"I may be an Auror," said Charlus. "But your mother is a woman."

The crease in James's forehead deepened. "What does that mean?" he asked, scrunching up his nose in bewilderment.

"Something you'll learn when you're older," Charlus said lightly, changing the subject before James could press him further. "We'll just have to make the best of it, won't we?"

James gave an unconvincing mumble. He still didn't understand why his father couldn't just wave his wand and make them both presentable. He didn't even look like an Auror anymore. He looked like one of those dull people in the _Daily Prophet_, the ones who either looked extremely bored as they pored over papers or extremely angry as they waved those papers around.

"This dinner is very important to your mother," Charlus was saying. "The Minister of Magic is coming, along with other important people-"

That caught James's attention. He perked up. "Are any famous Quidditch players coming?"

"Well, no."

James shot him a look that plainly stated that any important person worth paying attention to would be one with a broomstick.

"Most people would be excited to have the Minister of Magic visit," Charlus tried again.

"You don't seem very excited," James pointed out. He peered more closely at his father's face, frowning at what he found there. The strands of iron gray hair that had been present ever since James's birth had multiplied greatly over the last year, winning the battle against black by a landslide. That gray seemed to have spread, tinging his tired features. "You look like you're about to go to St. Mungo's."

Charlus sighed heavily, and for a few seconds, he didn't speak. He stood there in silence, appearing to be weighing his options, and once he had finally settled on one, he knelt down on his knee so that he and James were on a similar eye level. When he spoke, his voice was low and confidential. "Between you and me, these people are very boring. In fact, this entire dinner will be very boring, but your mother wants it to be perfect, so we'll have to do our best to pretend to be happy with it, all right?"

James listened carefully. He liked that his father was trusting him with this very important secret. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded solemnly, his chest puffing out a little as he did so.

Charlus smiled at him, and just then, he no longer looked quite so gray. It was a real smile, the kind that made his eyes crinkle, the kind that made James smile right back even though his hair was flat and the evening would be a bleak one, spent sitting up nicely and nodding in all the right places. "Excellent. And tomorrow we can do something less boring."

"Like what?" James lit up, already feeling a flicker of anticipation.

"I was thinking," Charlus said slowly, a twinkle in his eyes. "You'll be starting school soon and it wouldn't be very fair to let you go without knowing any magic, would it? I think it's time I taught you a spell or two."

James forgot all about the dreary dinner that awaited him. He had wanted to learn how to use a wand for ages. Of course, that hadn't stopped him from picking up one before. There had been several...incidents, none that had ended too prettily, but this would be different. After all, he was older now, and far more wiser. "One that will turn any dark wizards into rats?"

"I was thinking of _Expelliarmus_."

James's face fell.

Charlus laughed at his crestfallen expression, reaching over to ruffle his son's hair but catching himself in the nick of time. "It's not the most thrilling spell, but it's one every Auror should know. You would be surprised to see how useful even a simple Disarming Charm can be."

Before James could ask when he would be able to learn how to transform a dark wizard into a rat, Charlus's face sobered, the sparkle leaving his eyes.

"I ought to warn you, James. The Minister-"

"Charlus! James!"

Dorea's voice prevented him from finishing. It was a perfect hostess voice, pleasant and collected, but there was an underlying firmness that only those close to her would be able to decipher, a firmness that caused Charlus and James to exchange looks. In silent agreement, they hastened to greet the guests that had begun pouring in, James's legs working doubly hard to match his father's much longer ones, and Charlus's unfinished sentence was forgotten in the midst of formalities.

It wasn't fair, James decided as he stood up straight under his mother's watchful gaze, shaking Alastor Moody's weathered hand but so lost in his thoughts that he didn't gape at the Auror, awestruck, as he usually did. His father shouldn't have to pretend to be happy for an entire dinner, not when he came home later and later each night, looking more exhausted each morning. He should be happy.

And James brightened because, just then, he knew precisely how to make him happy.

Charlus had always liked a good prank. In fact, he was the one who had taught James the art of mischief. He had once told him that only a truly brilliant mind was capable of achieving the perfect prank, and the words had remained engraved in James's mind ever since. Together, father and son had taken on Dorea, family friends, shopkeepers, and once even Biddle.

This time, James decided, it would be the Minster of Magic.

The moment Dorea's attention had turned to greeting a striking couple in matching robes of vivid violet, James fled, hurtling toward his bedroom with lightning speed. He didn't have time to plan out a Potter original, but fortunately he kept the necessary supplies for moments such as these.

Standing in his door, he surveyed the various nooks and crannies with a serious expression. One second later, he was tearing through the room like a whirlwind, stuffing his pockets with whatever he deemed fit. Just as he was taking out a small wooden box that easily fit into the palm of his hand, a high pitched voice caused him to jump.

"Mr. James!"

James quickly shoved the box behind his back at the intrusion. He found Biddle the house-elf eyeing him sternly from the doorway. "Mrs. Potter is waiting for you, Mr. James. Mrs. Potter sent Biddle."

"I'm leaving now!" James said defensively, trying to discreetly slip the box into his robes. "I was just getting a few things."

Biddle only looked at him, but the look made him feel all the more defensive.

"It's for a present! Not anything bad."

"Biddle thinks you're up to mischief again, Mr. James."

"You say mischief like it's a bad thing," James said, but he was barely paying attention to the house-elf. He could hear the guests moving. They were being led towards the table. That didn't give him much time, but fortunately, there was a shortcut. As he scrambled towards the opposite direction of the guests, he heard a cry of "Mr. James!" but he didn't dare look back.

He was running in the corridor, doing his best to do so soundlessly because Dorea's ears matched her hawk eyes, and there were now rules about running in the house, all because of a few minor accidents that were hardly worth fretting over. As James ran, he fumbled through his pockets in search of anything that could be useful. His fingers curled around a slim tube and the small box he had just tucked in just as he skidded into the dining room.

The voices were louder now.

James stared at the table in panic, not knowing which chair would hold the Minister of Magic. He closed his eyes, trying to remember where Dorea liked to place all the important people, but that was difficult, because then he would have to remember who the important people were, and that was not only difficult, but painfully dull.

And then it came to him. The seat beside the one that Dorea usually took, the seat that was provided with the most impressive view. James zeroed in on it as if it were a target, and quickly, he went to work.

The box was first. He unfastened the miniature gold latch and dipped his fingers inside the shimmering powder. When certain that he had an appropriate amount, he then sprinkled it over the silverware, watching in satisfaction as it disappeared from sight. In a fraction of a second, the box had disappeared into his robes and he uncapped the narrow tube that was ready in his hands. It was acid green with even brighter letters that promised to be more powerful than any Sticking Charm, though unlike a Permanent Sticking Charm, there was one remedy because even James had his limits.

Sometimes.

He pulled out the chair, squeezing a generous amount over the surface. He had just finished twisting the cap back on when Dorea arrived, ushering her guests in with her. Most of them were well acquainted with James, some offering smiles that he easily returned when they saw him. His mother, however, was not among them.

She was eyeing him with pure suspicion, which stung James. It wasn't as if he was always up to trouble. Trouble always seemed to find him.

"James, what are you doing?" Her eyes were fixed on the chair in his grasp.

It was essential to remain a façade of innocence of all times. His father had taught him that. James smiled his best innocent smile that he had perfected over the years, which wasn't difficult, because this wasn't trouble. Not really. It was a good deed, and wasn't Dorea always telling him to think of others? "I didn't think Mr. Doyle should have to pull out his own chair, being the Minister of Magic and all."

"Thank you," a man in exquisite black robes said rather stiffly, stepping forward from the crowd.

James had never seen a vampire before, but he had seen illustrations, and somehow he knew, that a real live vampire would look just like Mr. Doyle. He was tall and thin, extremely so, with a pallid complexion that looked utterly drained of any blood. A black mustache drooped over his colorless lips, and James found himself staring at the Minister's mouth, hoping and dreading to see a flash of fangs.

"Mr. Doyle is also in charge of the Aurors," Dorea told James meaningfully. He squirmed a little under her eyes because her message had been delivered loud and clear. It told him that as much as she wanted to believe her son was the perfect little gentleman, she knew him too well not notice that he was up to something, and that something should not include Mr. Doyle.

The Minister of Magic took that as his cue to hold his hand out to James. It was a well practiced motion, as if he did it several times a day, which James guessed he had. He took the hand, shaking it firmly just as he had been taught. It was a cold grip, icy and rigid, as if the owner wasn't even truly living.

_Like a vampire_, James couldn't help thinking again. That's when James's heart thud in his chest. He was beginning to feel that may have made a slight mistake, that Mr. Doyle was not a bloke with a sense of humor.

There was still time. He could tell Mr. Doyle that he had made a mistake and then they would laugh about it. The entire table would laugh and admire James's brilliance...

"What is that I smell?" Mr. Doyle demanded suddenly. "Is it cilantro? I _despise_ cilantro."

His voice was as chilling as his handshake. James froze, not hearing his mother's reply. He didn't know exactly what cilantro was, but it seemed the sort of thing that garlic would be, and vampires hated garlic. Everyone knew that. He couldn't tell him, this potential vampire, that he had put Sticking Glue to his chair because he thought it would be funny, not to mention that there was pixie dust all over the silverware.

For once, James didn't know what to do. This didn't match up with anything that his father had taught him. He had thought that everyone liked jokes but he couldn't imagine Mr. Doyle laughing, and from his mother's voice, he could tell that it would be a very bad idea to upset Mr. Doyle.

There was the sound of wood scraping as everyone sat down, the Minister among them, and just like that, there was no longer any time left. He numbly followed their example, dropping into a chair like a heavy weight. Was that what his father's warning had been about? Why he had been becoming more tired with each day? Was that why his mother was so careful around Mr. Doyle? Not because he had power even over the Head of the Auror Office, but because he was a vampire?

_"I ought to warn you, James. The Minister-"_

The Minister was what, James wondered frantically. A vampire with homicidal tendencies at the most innocent of practical jokes?

As Biddle scampered around the table, reaching high to fill the glasses, a light conversation sprinkled throughout the table. At the places where it faltered, Dorea came to the rescue, chiming in with a few pretty words that reawakened the table. James remained silent, but every so often, his alert hazel eyes would dart towards Mr. Doyle. He seemed to be the only one who noticed that the Minister's wineglass was untouched. That, James felt along with a burst of excitement, was extremely suspicious.

"I don't know what all of the fuss is about," a wizard that James vaguely recognized as Mockingbird or Mockbridge or something of that sort was saying. "He's one of those fanatics and he'll end up like the rest of him. Just when everyone knows his name, they'll tire of him and that will be the end of it."

"It's different this time," another familiar wizard, Bones, James thought, argued heatedly. "I've never seen the wizarding world react so strongly before. What do you think, Barty?"

James didn't have to guess who Barty was. He was unfortunately too familiar with Bartemius Crouch and his family. As a fellow respected Ministry family, he had no choice but to see them, but that didn't mean he had to like them very much. He supposed that Mrs. Crouch was nice enough, even if she barely talked, but Mr. Crouch always seemed to be frowning and little Barty Crouch was two years younger than James, and everyone seemed to expect them to be friends. They didn't understand that two years wasn't just two years. It was a lifetime.

Mr. Crouch had kept to himself since sitting down, other than coolly responding when spoken to. At the wizard's words, his pale blue eyes blazed, and James suddenly found him more interesting than he had ever seen him. For a moment, he forgot all about Mr. Doyle and the possibility that he had angered a vampire.

"His presence itself is an affront to the Ministry. He challenges everything that we stand for. I believe it would be a grave mistake to take such matters lightly."

The frail looking Mrs. Crouch set a hand over his as if offering him consolation. His face did not change, but James noticed that his fingers had closed around hers. Quickly becoming bored with the Crouches, James's eyes returned to the Minister. He was so intent on spying on him that he didn't notice Alastor Moody's sharp brown eyes were watching him.

"I'm afraid that I agree with Bartemius," Mr. Doyle said grimly. "It would be a grave error indeed to dismiss Voldemort. His supporters have proven that he is different from the others-"

"Not in front of my son," Charlus cut in curtly. All eyes landed on him. After all, it wasn't every day that the Minister of Magic was interrupted. He seemed to realize his own mistake, but he didn't flinch, his voice not softening. "Please."

There was a tense silence as Mr. Doyle's dark eyes flashed, but he merely nodded. "My apologies."

James's curiosity was sparked by the exchange, but it was brushed away in favor new emotion. Pride. His father had not only told the Minister of Magic what to do, but a likely vampiric Minister of Magic. He didn't even look the least bit afraid.

James decided right then and there that he wanted to be brave like that too. He wasn't a Hufflepuff. He was a future Gryffindor. A Potter. And Potters weren't afraid of anything. They always had a plan. He needed a plan. It was what a vampire hunter would do, or even an Auror. James's eyes lit up at the thought.

No one was speaking when Biddle served the plates. Not even Dorea was feeling particularly conversational. James scarcely noticed because he was too busy formulating his plan, feeling extremely sly as he did so. The first step was constant vigilance. Wasn't that what Moody was always going on about whenever James saw him? And he was the best Auror there was, after his dad, of course. Feeling pleased with himself, James went to work on step number one.

He was a natural Auror because the second he looked at Mr. Doyle was the second that Mr. Doyle picked up his glass for the first time. James's eyes were round as they latched onto the wineglass, growing rounder as the Minister took a sip and swallowed.

He was relieved and disappointed by the sight, preparing to dismiss his theory and his little fantasy of being the wizarding world's newest hero. After all, vampires only consumed blood. Unless...

James's eyes narrowed with another rush of adrenaline. He had never seen a glass of blood before but he guessed it looked a lot like red wine.

The Minister set the glass down on the table, ruby red liquid sloshing.

James waited for him to move towards the silverware, half terrified, half excited to see what would happen. This would determine the next step. If Mr. Doyle flew into a murderous rage and the glue managed to hold him down, James would be given precious time to hurry to the kitchen for the garlic. If the glue somehow failed to hold him, well, then, he would have to grab the wand sticking out from the wizard in purple's robes.

Of course James didn't know any spells, but he figured he could hold him off until his dad was ready with his own wand. After all, they were a team. Once Charlus saw how helpful James was, he would realize that he was vital to Auror missions. They would leave at night to catch dark wizards together. They would be heroes, their pictures plastered all over the newspapers...

Reality rudely returned to him when the Minister then reached for his fork. Or at least when he began to. The second his fingers brushed against the silver, the fork shot forward, just evading his grasp. Frowning slightly, he tried again.

For a vampire, James decided, letting go of the breath that he had been holding, the Minister of Magic was rather oblivious. That wouldn't do. His enemy would have to be fierce or his victory hardly sounded impressive. He'd have to liven it up a bit when journalists begged him to tell the story of how he had outwitted a vampire with cutlery, even decades from now.

Mr. Doyle's frown deepened as he eyed his goblin crafted cutlery, nostrils flaring. No one else seemed to notice his little struggle, too absorbed in the meal. He tried again, and this time, he was more successful. As his fingers began to close around the fork, he had a look of such triumph that James almost felt sorry for him. The fork, ignited by contact, leapt from his grasp and began to twirl about on the table. Inspired, his spoon and knife leapt to life and joined in.

James bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"What is the meaning of this?" Mr. Doyle demanded sharply just as everyone became aware that there was silverware dancing in front of the Minister of Magic. He started to rise in his chair, reaching into his robes for his wand, but as soon as he attempted to lift himself up, his stuck robes pulled him straight back down and he tottered, but thankfully, did not tip over. He was the picture of fury just then, white teeth flashing. At the sight of his teeth, James suddenly remembered that an angry vampire was no laughing matter, especially when the vampire was angry at him. No vampire hunter, no Auror, would be laughing.

Dinner was forgotten. The others rushed to his aid, wands out, jets of light flashing. It seemed that everyone had a helpful suggestion or spell of some sort, all chirping in at the same time. All except for James, who had returned to the role of the brave hero as he started for the kitchen in search of garlic, wavering between fear and the urge to double over with laughter.

"Not so fast, boy." A powerful hand had grabbed the back of James's robes, yanking him back, and James found himself face to face with Alastor Moody. It wasn't a terrible face, although it bore several scars, but the fierceness of his brown eyes still made James gulp, half-awed, half-terrified.

"I was going to be right back," James said hotly when he had recovered from the shock. "Aurors don't run away."

"Is that so?" Moody said gruffly, and he then whistled sharply, causing all eyes to turn their way. "Why don't you tell them that there isn't a dark wizard sending cursed cutlery after the Minister of Magic?"

"All right," James said, feeling quite bold now that he had everyone's attention. "I did it."

All eyes were on him, including a pair of glittering black ones. James defiantly stared back, reveling in his bravery. It was then that the tension seemed to drain from the room, and James realized that Moody had been right, that they had genuinely feared a dark wizard had been at work. Or better yet, James thought smugly, they had feared the wrath of a vampire. That sounded better.

"_Oh, James_." Dorea's eyes closed, but she sounded as if she had been expecting this all along. "Why would you do such a thing?"

James was no longer feeling quite so brave, not with his mother involved. He had somehow managed to forget that she was there.

"...I thought it would be funny."

No one moved but Moody's lips twitched as if he was holding back a chuckle. Charlus was less successful, but he hastily covered it up with a cough at his wife's glare. That made James feel a little better, encouraging him to continue.

"I was going to stop it," James said earnestly. "Then I thought he might be a...vampire."

The second he said it aloud, he regretted it. In his head, a vampiric Minister of Magic sounded rather thrilling, like something that would be on a radio program, but only better because it would be starring him and it would be real. Aloud, it sounded stupid. Not wanting to dwell on that part, he hastily continued. "But then he sat down and the silverware started dancing and then it was too late..." His voice trailed off, not quite liking how that sounded either.

"A vampire," Mr. Doyle echoed faintly. "You thought I was a vampire?"

James had been hoping that they would be able to skip over that little detail. He decided a change of subject was in order, only shrugging at the question. "The pixie dust wears off after a bit and a Cleansing Charm gets rid of the glue. I think. It might be a Cheering Charm. I dunno. I never tried it before, but there's instructions somewhere in my room."

It was suddenly silent all except for pitter patter of silverware, and the strain that had vanished was replaced by a tension that was thicker than before, just waiting for the Minister to erupt.

But then a laugh shattered the silence. To James's astonishment, it was Mr. Doyle. It had started as a low, slow laugh, and then it grew until it shook his entire frame. Soon his chair was rattling against the floor with his quivering form.

"A vampire," he was saying over and over again, still shaking. "Would you believe that, Bartemius?" He had clapped a hand on Mr. Crouch's back, who did not look nearly as amused.

James didn't think it was quite so funny either, especially now that the others had relaxed and were joining in the laughter too. The idea hadn't been_ that_ outlandish. After all, Mr. Doyle could very well have been a vampire. He was certainly pale enough, and sinister, well, he was before he had burst into a laughing fit, _and_ he hated cilantro. And then there was also his parents...

At the thought of his parents, James quickly looked at them. His father was laughing freely now, but Dorea didn't seem to find the situation that humorous. She was giving James a look that equaled a future talk, one that made his stomach drop. He wondered how he would wriggle his way out of this one.

"The pixie dust," Moody said abruptly. "Dawlish used a Negation Charm. Why wasn't it nullified?"

James saw an opportunity to heal his bruised ego and he stole it, unable to resist grinning up at the Auror. "I mixed it in with a bit of crushed fairy wings. It makes it last longer too."

His words received a fresh round of laughter, but this time, with words of praise. Moody didn't say anything but he clapped James's shoulder. Mr. Doyle stared at him and then chortled all over again, glancing at James's father. "Your son is ingenious, Charlus," he said, still chuckling. He didn't resemble the formidable figure he had been when he had first walked in, making the vampire idea look even more absurd, but James no longer felt stupid, or at least, that stupid.

He was too busy enjoying the moment.

Ingenious. The Minister of Magic had said he was ingenious. Of course, it wasn't quite as good as hearing it from, say, Hamish MacFarlan, but all the same, James would take it.

He brushed away any concerns of motherly lectures, absentmindedly reaching to run a hand through his hair potion caked hair. He had no need to worry. If he could win over a possibly evil Minister of Magic with his natural...ingenuity _and_ impress some of the best Aurors in the wizarding world, then he could certainly butter up his own mother. All it would require was some charm, a lot of charm, but James didn't doubt for one moment that he could pull it off.

And then one day, a day that was hopefully not too far away, he really would be a hero. He knew he would, he just knew it. He could feel it with every fiber of his body.

After all, he was James Potter, and he was ingenious.


	3. Chapter 3 The Invisibility Cloak

**Thanks for the reviews! For those of you who read Always, I'm sorry there wasn't a new chapter this week, but I hope this chapter of Hero helps make up for it. ****This update is overdue, I know, but the next one won't take nearly as long. It's one I've been anxious to write because James will meet Lily for the first time. **

**My beta for Always, sparklyscrunchies, also looked over this chapter, so thank you! At her suggestion, I added a small scene with James's wand last minute, so if there's any errors there, it's all me. I hope there isn't because it would be sad if I missed any in that short of a scene. **

**Note- while this is all part of JKR's world, I feel obligated to mention that one line is particular was heavily inspired from DH. You'll know it when you see it. It may be a little much, but I couldn't resist. There's also another one was taken directly from PS/SS. **

**Chapter Three- The Invisibility Cloak**

**1971**

The torn envelope fell to the kitchen floor. Biddle, well accustomed to the untidiness of young Master Potter, scurried to pick it up, but James scarcely noticed. His fingers were clumsy with excitement as he unfolded the parchment that was still in his hands, the emerald ink shining in the sunlight that trickled through the window.

James was too eager to wait. His hazel eyes quickly ran through the letter to make certain it was what he thought it was, and it was. His heart leaping in his chest, James looked up at the expectant faces of his parents, pleased that his audience was ready. He cleared his throat and began to read.

"Dear Mr. Potter," James said, his voice vibrating with pride. "We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment."

Unable to wait, he looked up again to see his parents' faces. Both were beaming and James found himself promptly engulfed in hugs.

"Well done, James!"

"We'll have to celebrate," Dorea was saying, her eyes suddenly misty. "Perhaps a party. Something small and elegant. Not too elegant, of course... Outdoors, I think. With those goblin-made lanterns in the trees."

"Or we could go somewhere," Charlus said hastily, looking a little green at the prospect of another party. "Is there somewhere you would like to go, James?"

James considered this. He had already had a busy summer. He had seen both his favorite Quidditch teams, Puddlemere United _and_ the Montrose Magpies, play, though James wasn't quite ready to talk about Puddlemere's defeat yet. He and his parents had also gone to Egypt for two weeks, which he had enjoyed immensely because he had liked looking at the pyramids and hearing about curses and mummies. In his opinion, it had been far better than their week in France, which had been spent trailing after Dorea during her many, _many_ shopping excursions, and their week in Greece, where he had nearly been burned to a crisp.

"I dunno," James said, his eyes suddenly brightening. "I've always wanted to go on a safari."

"I was thinking somewhere a little closer to home," Charlus said. "I have to go to work on Monday."

"Oh," James scrunched up his nose at the idea of working. Charlus had been working far too much, and more than once on holiday, he had to Apparate to somewhere mysterious to take care of an even more mysterious something.

"Could we go to Diagon Alley? I haven't been there in ages."

"We'll have to get your things. I should have started earlier. I knew this day was coming. I don't know what I was thinking," Dorea was fretting. "Doesn't it feel too soon?"

"No!" James cried out in astonishment. "It feels like it's been forever." And before his mother could smooth his hair or suggest that he postpone Hogwarts, he quickly continued reading. "Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31." He paused. "'Your' owl. Does this mean I can have my own owl now?"

"One thing at a time, James," Charlus said, but he was still beaming. He took a spoonful of honey and stirred it into his pumpkin juice, his tired eyes just as bright and mischievous as his son's. James took that as a sign that it was time to start picturing his owl.

"James, stop squirming and eat your breakfast," Dorea told him, nodding at Biddle to refill her pumpkin juice. "We'll leave once you're finished."

James sat down at once. Biddle hurried over with a napkin, but James was too excited to be irritated by the house-elf's fussing. He quickly picked up his fork and dug in, shoving bites as quickly as he could swallow them, much to his mother's horror and his father's amusement.

"Charlus, it's not funny. He could _choke_."

At that, Charlus winked at James, and James, his eyes sparkling, dramatically clutched his hands around his throat and began to sputter. Dorea shook her head, though James thought he saw a hint of a smile before she covered it with a napkin.

Charlus and Dorea began to discuss garden gnomes and the war the impudent little creatures had waged against the rosebushes, and James quickly lost interest. He was happier thinking about Hogwarts. He had always known he would end up there someday, but now that he had the letter next to his plate, it suddenly felt real.

Hogwarts. Even the word made him feel excited, or at least more excited than usual. His parents had told him stories of Hogwarts for as long as he could remember, and he knew all about it, from the trick stairs to Nearly Headless Nick to Professor Dumbledore's fondness for Muggle sweets. Most importantly, he knew about Quidditch. Charlus had been on the Gryffindor team and James planned to do the same. Tryouts weren't until second year, but he was confident he could find a way around that little detail.

A pecking at the window disturbed his thoughts, and James looked up from his toast. A familiar, frazzled-looking owl with salt and pepper feathers was just behind the glass, bearing a scroll of parchment. James didn't have to see it to know that the Ministry insignia was stamped over the wax, and he hoped his father wouldn't notice. Lately, letters from the Ministry made him too quiet and James didn't like quiet. Just as he stood up to steal the parchment before Charlus could see the owl, he heard his father say, "James, could you get that?"

James froze, and very reluctantly, he opened the window. As he took the scroll, he couldn't resist making a face at the owl, and then suddenly, a brilliant idea struck him. Quickly, James scanned the kitchen counter, hoping for fresh parchment and a quill so he could write a new and sure to be superior letter, perhaps giving his father a week off, but once again, Charlus's voice interrupted him.

"James?"

Very grudgingly, James handed over the scroll and slumped down in his chair, momentarily defeated.

There was the sound of rustling as Charlus smoothed the parchment out on the table before him. With a little frown, he adjusted his glasses. Biddle started to polish the table around James, but James scarcely noticed the scurrying house-elf. His eyes were on his father. Charlus's frown had deepened.

"I'm going to have to go to the office today," Charlus announced grimly as he rolled up the scroll. He pushed out his chair from the table and stood up.

"It's Sunday," Dorea said in dismay. "And you've been working all week-"

"And we're supposed to go to Diagon Alley!" James interrupted, crestfallen as his dreams of owls and broomsticks dissolved before his very eyes. On Charlus's behalf, he felt a spark of indignation. No one worked harder than his father, and to make him work on a _Sunday_ seemed impossibly cruel.

"I know, I'm sorry," Charlus did sound genuinely regretful, though his mind was already far away. His eyes had clouded over with worry, and he was running his hand through his hair distractedly. "I'm afraid there's no way around it. I'll do my best to be back as soon as I can."

James didn't say anything. Charlus leaned over to kiss Dorea's cheek and glanced over at his son. "You can still go to Diagon Alley with your mother, James. Before term starts, you and I can go again."

"All right," James said with a little shrug, though his earlier elation had already fizzled out. He was disappointed, but he decided he wouldn't show it. After all, his father was the very best Dark wizard catcher in the Ministry. If Charlus could be brave enough to face duty on his day off, so could James.

And he would get to visit Diagon Alley _twice_.

Breakfast was soon finished and Charlus Disapparated with a loud crack. Though she had already dressed and done her hair long before James had even been awake, Dorea took her time straightening up as an impatient James squirmed by the fireplace. His hand was already above the box of Floo Powder so he wouldn't have to waste a second more than necessary.

"I'm coming," Dorea told her son with amusement and he quickly unlatched the box. It fell open with a little thud. She neared him, but her forehead puckered suddenly, and there was a familiar little frown on her lips. "Oh dear."

James knew that look. He bounced into action, one hand covering his hair protectively, the other seizing a fistful of glittery powder. Before his mother could take another ten minutes attempting to smooth out his hair, he tossed it into the fireplace and leapt inside.

"Diagon Alley."

"_JAMES_."

She said his name in such a terrible way that James winced, taking a step away so that he was nearly pressed against the back of the fireplace. He could see Dorea's furious face between the flames of emerald green as her hands anxiously attempted to yank him back into the house, but she was too late. He was whirling around in the swirl of green, fireplaces spinning all around him, some stone, some brick, and suddenly, it stopped.

He had arrived.

He was in the Leaky Cauldron. He didn't need to look around to know; experience had already taught him. For a second, James wondered if he should wait for Dorea, but a brief look through the dusty window banished the thought. Diagon Alley was bursting with life, and he didn't want to stay back and wait, not when everyone else was moving on without him. A little panicked at that thought, James brushed the soot from his knees and quickly raced outside.

The liveliness of Diagon Alley was one of the main reasons why James loved it. There was never a dull moment. Everywhere he looked, there were dozens of witches and wizards bustling about the sun-splashed streets, merrily chattering away as they greeted neighbors and old friends. A great deal of them were younger, about James's age, and he couldn't resist gawking at them, wondering which ones would be attending school with him.

At that thought, he felt for his letter that he had stuck in his pocket, and as his fingers curled around crumpled parchment, James grinned.

"James!"

Dorea's recently fixed hair was already ruined, but James didn't dare tell her that. He stood there as innocently as he could, though it was difficult when Diagon Alley was right there.

"I've told you before. Always, _always_ wait for your father or me before you use Floo Powder," Dorea suddenly sounded more tired than furious, and James felt an uncomfortable prickle of guilt. "It's dangerous. You could end up lost or hurt."

James wanted to point out that he had used Floo Powder before, a million times at least, but he didn't want to stand there any longer. "I know, Mum. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

Dorea sighed. "Yes, you will."

James didn't deny it. He just smiled at her, hoping it would make her smile too. She didn't. She was too busy searching through her purse as she muttered to herself in annoyance.

"I have the letter," James reminded her, taking the letter from his pocket. He handed it to her, and she took the crushed parchment, smoothing it over with a look. While she liked things neat and orderly, James had inherited his father's penchant for untidiness.

"Hm. Let's see. We don't need to stop by Gringotts. Madam Malkin's is right there. I think we should get your robes first."

James didn't say anything. His disappointed face said it all.

"I'll get your robes," Dorea amended with a slight smile, and he knew the Floo incident was forgiven, at least until they returned home. "I already know your measurements. You can look around for a little while and I'll meet you when I'm done."

James beamed at her. "Thanks, Mum."

Dorea fumbled through her purse again, and she withdrew a small, velvet pouch. Even in the noisy street, James could hear the rattling of coins.

"Don't spend it all on chocolate. I'll find you when I'm done. That shouldn't be difficult," Dorea's blue-gray eyes flickered towards Quality Quidditch Supplies, where a shiny Nimbus 1001 was on display.

James's grin widened. That was all he needed. Pouch in hand, he bolted for the shop.

He wasn't the only one eyeing the Nimbus. A small crowd had already formed, much of them taller than he was. James tried to peer around the massive heads and shoulders, but when that didn't work, he wriggled his way between the cracks until his nose was pressed up against the window, oblivious to the murmurs of disgruntlement.

It really was spectacular. James stared at it hungrily. He only had a Nimbus 1000. It still flew perfectly, and thanks to his professional cleaning kit, gleamed like new, but staring at the Nimbus suddenly made his model feel outdated. He felt a little ashamed for thinking it. He hated being disloyal to the same broomstick that had won him so many make believe matches with Hamish MacFarlan.

Even so, he couldn't help but marvel at it. The sleek lines, the smooth handle, the superfine ash wood...it outshone every broomstick there was. It was beautiful.

"It can go from zero to one hundred in ten seconds," the tall man behind James was saying in an authoritative voice.

That caught James's attention, though his eyes never left the broomstick.

"One hundred?" he scoffed. "It goes one ten easily."

The man gave James a very sharp look, but James didn't notice. He was too eager. "And that's only if you get hazel twigs. If you get birch, you could probably go one fifteen."

Someone coughed. James raised his voice.

"I don't know which I would get. Hazel turns better, but still, _one fifteen_! I still have the Nimbus 1000. That only goes up to ninety." James strained his eyes for a better look. "I wonder which one Puddlemere will get. You know they'll all get one. It's the top broom of the year. Maybe even the decade."

When no one said anything, James turned around to find that the crowd was much thinner. He felt a flicker of annoyance that there was no one there to admire the precious broomstick or to listen to his words of wisdom, but he didn't dwell on it for long. A glimpse of a familiar face indoors made him suddenly turn around and cover his face.

Little Barty Crouch was looking right at him, his mother, who thankfully hadn't noticed him, at his side.

James resisted the urge to send one last wistful glance at the Nimbus. If Barty said anything to his mother, she would be sure to come outside and ask where Dorea was. Before he could even blink, they would end up spending the rest of the day together, _shopping_.

James couldn't allow that to happen.

Feeling a little gloomy, James trudged along the street, his hands in his pockets. He wasn't hungry enough for an ice cream. There was always the joke shop, but he wasn't in the mood for Sporadic Sparklers or Vampiric Valentines. What he really wanted was his wand, but even if he had enough money for one, he knew Dorea would never forgive him for buying his first one without her. She had talked about it for as long as he could remember.

There was a sudden hoot and James looked up. At the sight of the enormous brass letters that spelled out _Eeylops Owl Emporium_, he grinned.

Unlike Quality Quidditch Supplies, the window wasn't crowded. There was only one other person there, a man who appeared to be around Charlus's age, though not so gray. He was gaping at the owls, practically quivering with excitement from what he saw. James had never seen anyone look quite so excited by an owl before, and though he had immediately found the one he wanted, he soon found himself more interested in the man than his future owl.

"Marvelous," the man was muttering to himself. "Absolutely marvelous."

A Muggle. It had to be a Muggle. He was even wearing Muggle clothes and had a strange sort of device hanging around his neck. It looked a lot like a camera, but when he clicked it, it flashed like lightning instead of ejecting puffs of purple smoke.

"Do you need any help, sir?" James asked politely, trying not to show how thrilled he was to be speaking to a real live Muggle. He had seen them before, of course, from a distance, but he had never spoken to them. Dorea had always ushered him away before he could.

"I'm not sure," the man said thoughtfully as he continued to peer into the window. "I just discovered them today. Wonderful creatures, aren't they?"

James had never given any thought to the wonders of owls before, not when he saw them every day, but he thought it would be impolite to disagree. "They are."

"They deliver mail!" the man was saying, "Without postage!"

His eyes bugged out slightly at that. James wanted to ask what postage was, but the man was already prattling on.

"I think I want to get one for my daughter." The man turned around and seemed to see James for the first time. He brightened at that, if it was possible for him to look even brighter. "She's about your age, actually. She's starting at a new school. For magic. Can you imagine?"

For once, James was at a loss for words. He felt an indescribable pity for this possibly mad Muggle. Imagine never knowing about Hogwarts, about mail-delivering owls, about _Quidditch_. Imagine having to rely on_ postage_. James still didn't know what postage was, but it sounded terrible enough.

"Do you know which one you'll get?" James asked at last.

"I don't know," the man was staring at the owls again. He snapped another picture and James nearly jumped at the flash, still not used to it. "They all look so wonderful. That one right there has a clever gleam in its eye. Can't you see it?"

"Er-"

"I don't know. That one right there is a beauty too." The man sighed, and much to James's relief, he seemed to be done with the strange camera, letting it fall to his chest. "Which one would you choose?"

That was a question James could answer. There had been an owl that had caught his eye, and for a moment, he was tempted not to say anything because a part of him wanted it for himself. But the Muggle was looking at him, seeming lost and desperate and obviously in need of James Potter wisdom. The poor man had never even heard of Quidditch!

James sighed. Charlus had told him about moments when you had to do what was best for others instead of yourself, and he had a nagging feeling that this was supposed to be one of those moments.

"The white one," James said, pointing with his finger with a twinge of regret. "A snowy owl. They're rare, but they're the best ones. They're clever and really fast too."

"I'll take your word for it," the man looked suddenly relieved though a little disappointed now that he had reached a decision. He held out his hand. "Edward Evans."

James stuck out his own hand. He could feel his chest swell as he did so, feeling a warm glow of pride. He had done this man a great service. Another person, a lesser person, would have recommended the barn owl and taken the snowy one for himself, but not James. "James. James Potter."

"Well, thank you, James. I should hurry. I told my daughter I was getting an ice cream and I wandered off."

"Don't forget owl treats," James said helpfully, deciding that he liked being this Muggle's sole expert on the Wizarding world. "Eeylops Premium is the best. Don't let them talk you into buying Helga's. It made my dad's owl sick once."

The man thanked him again and quickly ducked inside the shop. James lingered at the window. A minute later, the cage was lifted, leaving only an empty space behind. He stared at it, a little disappointed.

He was just about to turn around when an Eeylops employee slid in a replacement cage. There was an assortment of hoots and James's eyes widened when he saw the newcomer. Its feathers were reddish brown, much like a Quaffle, and the tips were dipped in gold. Like a Snitch.

Red and gold. Quidditch colors. _Gryffindor_ colors.

It was love at first sight.

James needed that owl.

Quickly, he emptied the pouch of coins into his palm. Five Galleons. Seven Sickles. An owl cost ten Galleons at the very least. James chewed his lower lip, deep in thought. Surely half an hour had passed. Surely Dorea would come looking for him at any moment. He would just have to keep anyone else from buying the owl in the meantime.

At first, James tried casually slouching against the glass, but as he turned his head to look over his shoulder, he realized that he was too short. He tried jumping up to block it from sight, but then felt enormously stupid for doing so, and he settled for casually stretching his arms.

"James, what are you doing?"

"Hi Mum!" James quickly straightened up and flashed her a smile. "Just stretching."

Dorea's unconvinced blue-gray eyes flitted around her son, obviously searching for any signs of damage. When she didn't see people shouting or bits of broken glass or any other signs of chaos, she relaxed. "I know the supplies list says only three sets of work robes, but I don't think they set that number with you in mind, so I bought six. Oh, I bought you two winter cloaks too. Just to be safe. That castle can be rather drafty-"

"Mum," James interrupted, unable to wait a moment longer. "Look."

He pointed a finger at the owl. Dorea's eyes lifted. She didn't say anything, and suddenly, James felt very anxious.

"Red and gold! Quidditch colors! Gryffindor colors! I know it's more brown than red, but there's still red. Like a Quaffle, don't you think? I even have a name picked out for him. Hamish. I think it's a him, at least. If it's not, then, well, that's a problem. I'll think of something."

James suddenly realized that he had forgot to breathe, and he paused to catch his breath. Dorea was still silent and he took another look at the owl.

"Can I please get him? Or her? I'll send you thank you notes every day."

Dorea reached out a hand, and James tried not to wince, expecting her to flatten his hair out, but to his surprised, she tousled it fondly. "Let's go inside."

Two hours later, James was adjusting Hamish's cage in the corner of his room. Once the owl (it was a he after all) was settled, he opened the package of Eeylops Premium Owl Treats that he had insisted on buying and pushed one through the bars. Hamish accepted it with a happy hoot.

"Hamish Wronski, you were named after two Quidditch players," James told the owl seriously. "One of them played for the Montrose Magpies and he was the greatest player I've ever seen. It was at my first World Cup and it was brilliant."

The owl hooted again, a sign of a captive audience, and James decided that they would get along just fine. He went on to describe the match, point by point, but a knock at the door interrupted him long before the Snitch was caught.

"You can come in," James said automatically as he dropped another treat into the cage. Hamish greedily gobbled it up before it had even touched the bottom.

It was Charlus. He was holding a brown paper package.

"You're back early," James observed, more than a little curious at what the package contained. His head turned back to Hamish, and he felt a twinge of pride at the sight of his very own owl. "Did Mum tell you I got an owl?"

"She mentioned it," Charlus stepped towards the cage and allowed Hamish to inspect his hand. After a moment of deliberation, the owl nipped his fingers in approval. "Excellent choice."

"I got a wand, too." James left the cage to fetch his second most prized possession. It was at a place of honor on the middle of his desk, carefully set in a wide space he had cleared himself. He picked it up and handed it to his father, beaming as he remembered the shower of gold sparks that had rained over Ollivanders when he had first swished it. He was sorry Charlus had missed it. Even Mr. Ollivander had been awed. Though he hadn't said so exactly, James thought he must have been, and it wasn't as if Mr. Ollivander had said he _wasn't_ in awe.

Charlus took the wand, studying it intently as he turned it over in his hands. "Nice. Mahogany?"

"Eleven inches," James said proudly. "With a phoenix feather as its core."

Charlus looked impressed as he returned the wand to James, who set it down gently, or as gently as he was capable of, in its original resting place. "That's the rarest kind. Some say the most powerful, too."

James liked the sound of that. It meant that he had the best wand, not that he hadn't thought so before. He had figured out its strength minutes after arriving home when he had decided that he couldn't wait any longer to test it out. Watching the dishes float from the china cabinet had been a most gratifying experience, or at least it had been until they had crashed to the floor in unison, much to Dorea's dismay.

Even after a dull lecture, James was anxious to try his wand out again. He would have to practice outside, where Dorea couldn't see him. Maybe, as a surprise, he would redo the garden for her. Once she saw how wonderful it looked, she would be too pleased to scold him for using his wand again. She would probably praise him and recommend him to all of her friends-

Charlus spoke again, momentarily distracting James's thoughts. "I wanted to tell you that I was sorry for missing Diagon Alley."

"I know you had to work," James said, still wondering if he would _want_ to be recommended to all of Dorea's friends. That was a lot of gardening, which meant a lot of work, and less time for flying-

"Still, it's not every day my son gets accepted into Hogwarts," Charlus's eyes held the same pride as his son's, and suddenly, he grinned, making himself look years younger. "Which is why I want to give you this."

That caught James's full attention. Visions of glory were promptly forgotten when Charlus handed him the box. Curious, James undid the string and tore open the package with a satisfactory ripping sound. He faltered when he saw that there was material inside, but when he looked up again and found that his father's grin had widened, he knew that it couldn't be just clothes. His father could be mischievous, but he wasn't cruel. With both hands, James gingerly inspected the silvery gray material. It felt like water as it slipped between his fingers.

It made them vanish.

James froze. For a moment, he was too stunned to say anything, which made his father laugh, and then he smiled broadly, from ear to ear.

"An _invisibility cloak_? This is brilliant!" James swept the cloak over his shoulders with a flourish, and seeing himself disappear, he threw his arms around his father in an invisible hug, hardly able to stand still long enough to do so. "How did you even find one? Aren't these really rare?"

"It's been in the family for a while," Charlus awkwardly patted his invisible son's back. "My father gave it to me when I got my letter and I decided it was time to carry on the tradition."

"You had it this entire time?" James couldn't be angry; he was too busy marveling at himself. It didn't make sense, but he felt lighter, just by being invisible. "I don't know anyone else who has one of these."

"I've only seen a few, but it's the best one I've come across. It's been in the family for generations and it's as good as new."

"I'll take good care of it. I promise." James's mind was already working out how best to use this new gift. Curfew would no longer be an issue, that much was for certain. He was smiling so hard that his face was beginning to hurt. "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome," Charlus said seriously, but his eyes were twinkling. "Use it well."

"Consider-" James was abruptly cut off. In his bouncing, he had tripped over one of his new textbooks and went flying across the room. He grimaced at his partially exposed body; he'd have to work on that. He smiled sheepishly at Charlus, who looked as though he was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Consider mischief managed."

**JPLE94- Thanks for the review and for letting me know! I'll have to change the previous chapter, but I made sure to use it in this one. **

**Guest- Thanks for the review! James really is pampered. He'll stay this way for a while, but I have two main events planned that will inspire his change. One will make him question himself for the first time, and the second will have a huge impact on him, and then he'll finally grow up a bit. I'm not sure if it will be 25 chapters exactly. It will probably be more. First year will have the most chapters because it's sort of an introduction to everything, but after that, I think I'll have two or three chapters per year. I'm not sure yet, so if I feel like the story going too fast that his change feels forced, I'll slow it down a little and maybe extend it to four or five chapters per year. I know, I'm terrible about updating this story. I'm glad you're a fan of Always, and while it is my priority, I think I'll be updating this one again pretty soon because James will meet Lily for the first time in the next chapter, and I'm anxious to write that particular scene. **

**Snape's man- Thanks for the review! I'm a fan of Snape too, but I'm glad this is making you hate James a little less, or at least hate him less in this story. I think it's easy to blame James, but like you said, James was just a boy. While I do think he was terrible to Snape, at least in the one scene we saw, I don't think that should define him as a character because he was only fifteen at the time and we know that he ends up changing. Like you, I don't think Lily would have married James if he was a horrible person. I think a lot of Snape's misery has to do with himself, which is the main reason why he's so tragic and fascinating to me. **

**sparklyscrunchies- Thanks for the review! I'm glad it seems natural because it's still something I struggle with, though it's getting easier as I continue writing James. I didn't think about it, but now I definitely want to do a scene with Lily trying to flatten James's hair, maybe when he first meets Petunia because Lily knows she'll be picky about that sort of thing. Thanks for the idea!**

**Roonil- Thanks for the review! You're probably right about Dorea and Charlus. While JKR has made a few mistakes on dates, I realize the chances of them being James's parents are slim. I like using her names when I can, and since she didn't say otherwise, I decided to just use them. If she has said something on Pottermore recently, then I apologize, because I haven't kept up with it. **

**Tina- Thanks for the review! It's strange because I thought I had a lot of anti-James readers when beginning, but most people seem to like him now. I'm not sure if it's because they changed their minds or because they're new readers and I scared the anti-James ones away. I don't mind either way; I'm just happy that people seem to be enjoying this. Thank you for saying that because it's important that I try to keep these characters as realistic as possible. Snape is probably my favorite character in HP, and while I think it's great that JKR was able to create a character capable of inspiring such loyalty, I think some of his fans tend to overlook his flaws. To me, his flaws and mistakes are what makes his character. I also agree with you on the James bashing. While I think he was terrible in Snape's memory, I don't think that's the best representation of him. He was only fifteen, and like you said, he also had some good qualities back then, such as accepting Remus. He may have been arrogant, but he wasn't a monster. I haven't seen the interview, but it sounds interesting. I didn't think about the Dumbledore comparison, but he makes a good point. I'll look for his interview, thanks for telling me about it!**

**Guest- Don't worry, I haven't given up on this. I admit, it's not my priority, but I'll try to update it more frequently, especially because the Mudblood scene finally happened in Always. Being in James's head is a nice break after all the angst. **


	4. Chapter 4 Sirius

**Thanks for the reviews! The response to this story has been amazing. I know I should be updating Always, but there's been even more angst than usual lately, even more in the upcoming chapter, and I felt that everyone, including me, could use something light. For those of you who read Abomination, I haven't given up on it but I'm waiting for Hero to catch up so I can decide what scenes should overlap.**

**Thank you to my beta, sparklyscrunchies, for editing!**

**Chapter Three Recap- After receiving his letter, James goes to Diagon Alley. While choosing his owl, he lets a Muggle named Edward Evans have his first pick. Later, Charlus hands down the Potter family's Invisibility Cloak.**

**Chapter Four- Sirius, A Slimeball, and the Girl Who Wouldn't Stop Crying**

**1971**

Everywhere James looked on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, there were misty-eyed mothers. Some anxiously reeled off last minute instructions, such as the reminder to brush teeth not only every day, but twice a day, no exceptions. Others used their last few precious moments to make motherly adjustments, smoothing out mussed hair and straightening up shirt collars. Nearly all were draped over their children in tearful embraces, oblivious to any squirms of embarrassment or possible smothering.

Surveying the platform once more, James suddenly felt very superior and extremely grown up, especially next to the equally collected seventh year boys that were clustered just beside the Hogwarts Express. Judging from their casually rumpled robes and even more casually rumpled hair, he could tell that these were the boys to make friends with. If that wasn't indication enough, the copy of _Quidditch Weekly_ in one boy's hands certainly was.

James inched near them a little more, not paying attention to what Dorea was saying, and he frowned a little at the obvious height difference between him and the seventh years. He held his chin a little higher. There. That was better. He then slung his arms across his chest and started to lean back slightly, hoping to adopt the same cool nonchalance that seemed to surround them. Once it was time to board the train, he'd introduce himself and secure himself a compartment.

"James!" Dorea's voice broke his concentration. "For Godric's sake, straighten up. You have the posture of a common garden gnome."

James resisted the urge to yelp out an indignant "_Mum_!" and glanced quickly at the boys, not too surprised to see one snicker in his direction. Oh well. There was still time to recover.

"As I was saying, be certain to change your robes every day. _Clean_ robes, please," Dorea paused, and her composed demeanor was beginning to crumble. Her eyes were suddenly very shiny. "Don't forget, I packed extra quills and parchment in your trunk. If you need anything, anything at all, even if you're homesick, write to us. If you want to come home, just say the word and we'll be there to pick you up so you won't have to take the train alone."

James had a feeling that the possibility of recovery was out the window. He wasn't enormously bothered; it wasn't Dorea's fault that he was extremely missable. He was already working out new compartment plans when Dorea swept him up in an enormous hug. After a few seconds, he coughed. "Mum. Can't breathe."

"Perhaps we should have considered homeschooling..." Dorea was fretting as she withdrew, causing James's eyebrows to shoot to his hairline in horror. Charlus set a comforting hand on her shoulder, wordlessly offering her a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes with it, and James shoved his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot, not quite sure what to do. Dorea could be emotional at times, at least when it came to him, but that was in the privacy of their home. In public, she was usually careful to remain poised and dignified.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, discreetly tucking away the handkerchief. "I know I'm being ridiculous. It just seems like it was only yesterday that we left St. Mungo's. You were such a tiny thing..."

James wished she would skip a few years and talk about his Quidditch victories. He quickly glanced around to make sure no one was listening. Sure enough, there was a boy about his age watching him. He looked as though he had been too nervous to sleep at all; dark circles underlined his eyes, especially noticeable on his ashy complexion. James thought he looked a bit like a vampire, if vampires had neatly combed brown hair (the obvious handiwork of a loving mother) and carried thick books with dragons on the cover. When he realized that James was staring back at him, he automatically averted his eyes, just in time to be enveloped in a hug from two people who must have been his parents.

"And he'll be back sooner than you know it," Charlus interrupted, much to James's relief, and he turned his attention back to his parents. Charlus grinned down at his son and tousled his hair affectionately, lightening the mood instantly. "I'll expect a letter soon, telling me all about your Sorting."

Now that was a letter James wouldn't mind writing. It would take a second, no, _half_ a second for the Sorting Hat to figure out he was a Gryffindor through and through. He beamed. "I will. Will you write to Dumbledore soon?"

"I will this week, but as I told you before, I can't make any promises-" Charlus was saying.

"You'll do it," James interrupted with new confidence. He never had reason to doubt his father before. A week. Seven days, and he would be reunited with his Nimbus. Of course, seven days was an awfully long time to be separated from his precious broomstick, but it was far better than the alternative, which he didn't dare think about.

The whistle sounded. The chatter on the platform was louder than ever as students began parting from their families, calling out their final goodbyes.

Dorea engulfed James in another suffocating hug. "Remember, if you're ever ill, go to Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing. Don't eat too much treacle tart at the feast tonight. And brush your hair. I had Biddle pack a spare brush for you."

"And the passage behind Gregory the Smarmy is the best place to hide from Filch."

"Charlus!"

Charlus winked at James while Dorea batted his arm. As he looked at them, James felt something strange sweep over him that made his throat feel suddenly tight. Before he could stop himself, he threw his arms around both of his parents as best he could.

"Bye Mum. Bye Dad."

They hugged him back just as tightly and James stepped away, his earlier excitement surging in his veins again. He quickly turned away before the lump in his throat could return. He was a Gryffindor, a future Auror, and future Aurors didn't get homesick.

James was so excited to board the train that he scarcely noticed that he had cut ahead of a few people, earning grumbles all around. Cheerfully, he bounced ahead, inspecting the compartments for the very best one. He had barely peeked into the first one before deciding against it; a boy about his age was sneezing loudly while a girl with blonde pigtails pressed her back against her seat, looking sincerely sorry in her choice of companion. She perked up when she noticed James looking in, but James, without another thought, moved ahead to the next one.

The compartment wasn't much more promising than the last one. It contained a crowd of girls who were giggling loudly enough that he could hear them through the shut door. James hastily moved on. The third compartment held a familiar face, Evan Rosier, and James knew from more than one encounter that that wouldn't work out in the slightest.

After rejecting several more compartments, the last being full of Tornado fans, James decided that the best compartment was an empty one. He promptly made himself at home, taking out the newest edition of _Which Broomstick_ and a package of Bertie Bott's that Dorea had bought him especially for the trip. He had just finished choking on a dirt-flavored bean when the door slid open. A boy about his age, perhaps a year older, came in and sat down without so much as a greeting.

James studied the newcomer curiously. He had black hair just as he did, only it was a little longer and lacked any Quidditch flair. Everything about him, from the way he sat up straight and tall to the way his chin was held up with a dignified air, reminded James of the way Dorea was, the way she was constantly instructing him to be. At first, James thought he looked boring, a future Barty Junior in the making, Barty who chirped exactly the right things to say at exactly the right moments and never swallowed his food too quickly. Then James began to notice the little things, such as the boy's clenched hands and the thin line of his lips as they tightly pressed together. Now he looked more angry than proper, and James's lips turned up a little at that. The boy looked so odd, sitting there with such silent rage, and James didn't understand how anyone could be that furious on an ordinary day, least of all furious on the first day of Hogwarts.

Somehow, James's observational skills had been less than discreet, and the boy had noticed he was under examination. He stared at James, and James did what he did best: he gave the boy his most innocent, most charming smile that would win over the darkest of enemies.

The boy didn't smile back. In fact, his eyes became fixed on the spot above James's head, as though he was doing his best to ignore him.

_No one_ ignored James.

"Are you all right?" James asked, feeling half-indignant and half-curious about the stranger sitting across from him. He had never seen anyone quite so serious, and he knew Mr. Crouch. No one could be that serious all the time; it was unnatural. "You seem really angry."

For a moment, the boy's steely features broke, and curiosity shone through. He was watching James strangely, as though James was the baffling one, and with a final appraising look, the stiffness returned.

"Is it your first year here?" James tried again. "It's mine. I'm James. James Potter."

"I'm Sirius."

He even said the word seriously, and James burst out laughing. "Seriously?" Sirius said nothing. James's forehead crinkled at his silence, not knowing what was wrong with him, and finally he wondered if he had hurt the other boy's feelings. Not wanting a silent companion for the next few hours, he decided to be the bigger person. "I mean there's nothing wrong with it. I like it."

"Thanks."

Evidently, he wasn't much of a talker. James couldn't help but feel disappointed. Before he could give up and return to his magazine, or more likely, prod Sirius again, the compartment door flew open. A girl burst in, a tangle of curls whipping behind her. They were a shade of red that James had never seen before, somewhere between a Quaffle and dark copper. Just as he was thinking how brilliant it would be to have Quaffle-colored hair, he came to a very disturbing realization.

The girl was crying.

She had stowed away in the corner, her face hidden, but there were _sounds_. Sobs, and in between sobs, sniffles.

Aurors were heroes. Gryffindors were heroes. Heroes didn't let others cry. They swept in bravely and selflessly. James wanted to be a hero. Many times, he had pictured himself saving a village from an army of vampires, or even better, a vengeful Hungarian Horntail. He had imagined himself being surrounded by adoring fans who begged him to accept medals and endless supplies of Chocolate Frogs. Never before had he imagined himself being confronted with a crying girl. Out of all compartments, why did she have to choose his?

James suddenly wished that a Hungarian Horntail had decided to join them instead. He had more than a few ideas of what to do with a Hungarian Horntail. He couldn't think of a single way to handle the girl sitting across from him. James had a nasty feeling that a charming smile wouldn't do the trick.

His eyes met Sirius's, and he was enormously relieved to see that he found the same panic that he felt. A subject change was needed. As a celebrated hostess, Dorea used them often during those little awkward moments, and as a rueful husband, Charlus used them even more.

"What's your Quidditch team?" James asked a little too cheerfully, thinking of the first thing that entered his mind.

Sirius didn't bother to mask his relief. "Puddlemere United!"

James didn't marvel at his sudden jolliness, as obviously feigned as it was; he was too delighted. "Really? Almost everyone I met so far said the Tornados. The _Tornados_, can you believe it? What self-respecting wizard would choose the Tornados over Puddlemere United? It's-"

Much to James's annoyance, his dramatic tirade was ruined by the arrival of a rather depressing looking boy with greasy hair. It fell to his shoulders, limp and heavy, and James couldn't help but stare in horrified fascination. Did he even wash it? What happened when he flew? Didn't it stick up at all? He had to be a Slytherin. Everyone knew that was the worst House to be in, even worse than Hufflepuff.

"I don't want to talk to you," the girl managed to say.

James didn't blame her; he wouldn't have wanted to talk to that boy either. He looked at the window, wishing that they would stop talking so he could tell Sirius exactly what was wrong with supporting the Tornados.

"Why not?"

"Tuney h-hates me. Because we saw that letter from Dumbledore."

James wondered if she had written to the headmaster about a broomstick too. He hoped not. He didn't want anyone ruining his chances. He stopped listening to the conversation, occupied by this new worry. Surely it wouldn't affect him if she had. He had Charlus on his side after all, and Charlus was the best Auror in the entire Wizarding world.

"... better be in Slytherin."

James forgot all about broomsticks. "Who wants to be in Slytherin?" He pulled a face and glanced at Sirius, who was undoubtedly the best of the lot. "I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

Sirius was serious again.

"My whole family have been in Slytherin."

James blinked. He'd never thought a Puddlemere United fan would be a Slytherin. "Blimey. And I thought you seemed all right!"

To his astonishment, Sirius only grinned at that. "Maybe I'll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you've got the choice?"

James grinned too. With a dramatic flourish, he thrust an invisible sword into the air. "Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart! Like my dad."

Someone snorted. James's eyes landed on the offender: the greasy boy. They narrowed. "Got a problem with that?"

"No," the boy sneered. "If you'd rather be brawny than brainy-"

"Where're you hoping to go, seeing as you're neither?" Sirius cut in, causing James to chortle loudly.

Though her face was still damp and her eyes still red, the red-haired girl's eyes flashed as she leapt to her feet, her face flaming with indignation. She looked at Sirius coldly, and then James, who smiled at her mockingly in return. "Come on, Severus." She turned to the greasy boy, her voice haughty. "Let's find another compartment."

"Oooooo," James said, imitating her tone with barely suppressed laughter, but his voice came out strangely, and he realized it was because Sirius had said the same, his timing and manner identical to his own. Sirius seemed to arrive at the same conclusion and he grinned slightly, just as the uninvited duo stepped outside.

"See ya, Snivellus!" James sang out. The door slammed shut, much to his amusement, and he looked back at Sirius. Simultaneously, they erupted into laughter once again.

"Did you see her face?" James barely managed.

"Her face? Did you see his?"

"Slytherin!" James said in horrified delight. "He's a Hufflepuff all the way." As the train lurched, the nearly full package of Bertie Bott's rattled beside him, and he picked it up, popping one into his mouth and extending the bag to Sirius. As Sirius helped himself, James winced. "Grass. I was hoping for green apple."

"Apple is more of a yellow-green," Sirius said sagely. "You can sort of see it when you squint your eyes and hold it up to the light."

James plucked another green one from the bag and did as instructed. "I think it's more of a yellow-green?" He eyed it doubtfully.

Sirius leaned over to study it, and he nodded authoritatively. "Definitely apple."

James took his word for it; he stuck it into his mouth and bit. At once, he regretted it and scrunched up his face in revulsion.

"Oh," Sirius said after a pause. "I think it was the other way around."

"You don't say." James's face was still contorted. Hoping to fix his grass-flavored mouth, he took another bean, which thankfully turned out to be caramel.

They ended up polishing off the rest of the Bertie Bott's in the next hour, which involved more than a few episodes of gagging, most notably when Sirius discovered that the rumor of there being a vomit-flavored bean was in fact not just a rumor. James had doubled over laughing at that, at least until he had ended up choking on the toffee-flavored bean that had been in his mouth. Then it had been Sirius's turn to snigger.

In the midst of their journey, a witch stopped by their compartment, a trolley of virtually every sweet available accompanying her. Both James's and Sirius's eyes roved around the piles of Chocolate Frogs and the stacks of Cauldron Cakes, nearly drooling at the Pumpkin Pasties and even lingering wistfully at the Jelly Slugs. It left them in a rather fortunate dilemma, and after minutes of agonizing decisions, they reached the conclusion that it was only logical to buy it all.

It turned out to be a regrettable choice.

"Whose stupid idea was it to have a Chocolate Frog race?" Sirius grumbled.

James was lying on his back, sprawled across his side of the compartment. He didn't have to turn his head to know that Sirius was in an equally useless state, somewhere among the heaps of discarded wrappers, which was lucky because he didn't think he could summon the strength to lift his head even if he wanted to.

"Yours, you prat," James grumbled back.

"Yeah, well, you're the one who was so insistent on finding Circe."

"It's been _years_!" James would have sat up and thrown his hands up in the air for dramatic effect if it hadn't required so much energy. "She's impossible to find. I reckon she doesn't even have a card. They probably made her up to drive us mad."

"She's not made up," Sirius said lazily. "I have one."

This time, James did try to sit up, and was immediately hit with a wave of nausea. He fell back down, unable to muster the proper amount of incredulity that Sirius's words deserved. "You're joking."

"Am not," Sirius said rather smugly. "For about a year now."

Life wasn't fair. James silently fumed, but only for a minute, until he became bored with the silence. "What Quidditch matches have you been to?"

"And I thought my brother talked about Quidditch too much," Sirius said dryly. "A lot."

"It's the best thing in the entire world," James said fervently. "I've been flying since I was a kid. And even before then. My mum and dad would take turns letting me on their broomsticks with them. The toy ones were boring."

Sirius was silent. James went on.

"I don't know what I'm going to do if Dumbledore doesn't let me bring my broomstick. It's a Nimbus, a Nimbus 1000, but I'm hoping for a 1001 for Christmas. My dad said he'd write to him, and if Dumbledore says no, I think my mum can convince him. She can convince anyone to do anything."

"Your parents would do that?" Sirius sounded bewildered.

"Well, yeah," James said, also bewildered. "They're my parents." He caught a glimmer of blue and gold from the corner of his eye, and with a sudden burst of energy, he turned over onto his stomach to pluck it from the ground. One last Chocolate Frog. With relish, he tore it open, and though he was disappointed to find Paracelsus staring back at him, he had no issue with shoving the chocolate into his mouth.

Sirius stared at him.

"Sorry," James swallowed the last of the chocolate. "Did you want it?"

Sirius shook his head. Satisfied, James went on to describe his most recent match, play by play. It occurred to him halfway through that Sirius hadn't asked to hear a play by play, but obviously that didn't mean that he didn't want to hear it. No one didn't want to hear about Quidditch, except for maybe Dorea when she was trying to take an afternoon nap, and Sirius didn't seem to mind that much. Even when he had thrown an empty Chocolate Frog box at James's head, telling him to shut up, he had done so with a grin.

The train suddenly came to a stop, but James didn't falter, even when he was forced to start collecting his things. "...And then Stein threw the Quaffle to Chambers, and at the same time, Hoffman caught the Snitch."

James finally looked at Sirius, expecting to see an impressed reaction, but gone was the friend who had sat across from him, who had eaten as many Cauldron Cakes as he could in a minute (seven), replaced by the boy he had first met, the boy who had seemed angry at the world. James felt a flicker of confusion, but he smiled all the same, figuring that Sirius must have been nervous about the Sorting. They weren't all born Gryffindors after all.

"See you in Gryffindor," James said cheerfully. His earlier stomachache was forgotten and he had leapt at the door the second everything of his had been gathered up. He couldn't wait a minute longer; he was too impatient.

Sirius didn't smile, but James didn't think he had to worry. He had a distinct feeling that the other boy was quite possibly a born Gryffindor too, and James Potter was never wrong.

**Roonil- Thanks for the review! Dorea was a Slytherin, or at least she will be here, though James is currently unaware of it. A lot of this story will be about James growing up and realizing that life isn't as black and white as he thinks it is, and that he and his parents aren't nearly as perfect as he thinks they are. Befriending Sirius and learning about his mother's history are sort of the beginning of that. I'm glad you like the way I portrayed James, thank you!**

**SevThruThru- Thanks for the review! It's funny that you described the stories in that way because that's exactly how I picture the scenes in my mind while writing them: Always, at least after Voldemort becomes a threat, has more of a cooler, blue coloring, and everything in Hero feels bright and sparkling, like the grass is somehow greener and the sun is somehow sunnier. Thank you for giving Hero a chance even though you aren't a James fan. Right now, he is extremely self-centered, and he will be for a while, but as the years go by, he'll realize that the world doesn't revolve around him, at least not every day. **

**rozemc- Thanks for the review! I think you're right, that Dorea might hesitate at the idea of bringing Lily into the family. I don't think she's prejudiced like the majority of her family, but for the reasons you said, I don't think it would make sense for her to instantly be one hundred percent thrilled with James marrying a Muggle-born. She knows nothing about Muggles and James is her only child, and I think a part of her would worry for James's sake. I agree, James's first glimpse of Lily is hardly love at first sight. The snowball scene will definitely be in this story because I think it's the first scene where Lily makes a lasting impression on James, though he won't fall in love with her right away or even for a while. **

**Snape's man- Thanks for the review! Part of me wishes that I elaborated on the wand scene, just because it was so important to James. In the end, I left it out because of the chapter structure, and while I was tempted to rewrite the chapter and work in the wand scene, I decided against it because I felt that it wasn't as significant to James as it would be to Lily and Severus, or even Remus. In some way, I see him being a bit like Dudley, constantly getting new things and breaking them or forgetting why he even wanted them to begin with. I think he'll always feel some attachment to his wand, but I don't think he'll feel about it the same way that the others I mentioned above do. For Lily, it's the first tangible piece of evidence that she's magical and she really is a witch that belong with the others. For Severus, it's power, proof that he's superior to the Muggles who always scorned him and his family while growing up and indication that it doesn't always have to be like that for him. For Remus (I know I haven't written his wand scene yet but I hope to someday) it's a way to prove to himself that he's not just a monster, but also a wizard who has a chance of a future. James has always been sure of himself, sometimes too sure of himself, and he doesn't need it the same way that they do. I don't think it would feel nearly as personal, and instead, just be seen as a really cool object that he could use to do really cool things like his dad, such as saving the world against dragons and dark magic. Snape's wand scene was sad for me to write. You're right, Eileen didn't ask him how he would get there, and to be honest, I don't think she would have considered taking him herself. I think marrying Tobias destroyed her, and in my mind, I see her thinking of herself as useless. I don't think she ever thought of herself as a good mother, and in that way, she never tried to be. She just sort of locked herself in that mindset. I think James's lack of appreciation has to do with being sheltered. He has never been exposed to real hardship, and in his mind, all parents love their children and are willing to do anything for them because that's what parents are supposed to do. Sirius and Remus are going to help him grow up a lot in that aspect. **

**Guest- Thanks for the review! You're right, in early scenes of Always, James is supposed to be unlikable. The main reason is because we're seeing him through Severus's and Lily's eyes, and back then, they both disliked him and focused on his worst moments. Another reason is because those are the really early scenes and he's still an extremely sheltered, self-centered kid and exposure to the Marauders' difficulties is what first makes him realize that most people's lives are drastically different from his own. I'm glad you're liking this characterization of James. While he's still in that early, extremely self-centered stage, I like that I'm getting a chance to show his reasoning so readers are able to realize that, as horrible as his decisions can be sometimes, I didn't intend to make him someone with evil intentions. He's really just a kid, and in some ways, much more so than Severus, Lily, and the other Marauders.**

**Aarg- Thanks for the review! Dorea will still be a Black because I want something to change the way James glorifies both of his parents, but it won't have an influence on his relationship with Sirius. We know from HP that all the pure bloods are somehow related to another, and if it isn't through his mother, he's connected to the Blacks in some way. I don't think it will make James and Sirius feel any familial obligations, especially since Sirius will realize, with the help of James and the rest of the Marauders, that family isn't defined by blood. I've always thought of James and Sirius being especially close out of the Marauders because of the conversation Harry overheard, and I plan to portray that, but it won't be because of their family ties. **


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